Mollified
by kajedhorrors
Summary: Karkat Vantas was always destined to change Alternia for the better. At the tender age of 8 sweeps he accomplished just that, though he's unwilling to explain his methods. And while life for the humans and low bloods has never been better, not everyone is happy about the changes. With Karkat off the force and gangs out on the street, will the reformed society survive?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Karkat, Wake up.

You've got your plates up on the table. That's the first thing you notice. You wiggle your bare toes on the desk top and the next thing that comes to mind is that if Leijon sees them up there again she's gonna chew you out. It occurs to you that you should probably make sure she's not around if you wanna carry on in relative comfort. You reach up and pull your hat up over your shutters. It is in this roundabout way that you discover that your head really fucking hurts.  
Christ, what is -with- that? You rub your nubs and groan a few curse words into the empty afternoon air. 'Afternoon?' You wonder, 'how did I sleep so late?' You look around your Office with blurry and burning eyes and- shit, hang on.  
You reach a pair of soft hands up to your lamps and practically claw the contacts out of them. You blink a few times into the cold thick air and let out an irritated hiss. A lot of this isn't adding up. 'If I got drunk that'd explain the headache and the contacts, but it's late afternoon and Leijon woulda come in by now. So that means I was awake before now, and that means this headache isn't a hangover and that means I... Left my contacts in on purpose? This is stupid.' You decide to rewind a bit and try to get your bearings.  
You pull your bare feet down from the desk and growl a few swearwords at no one in particular. You slump forward in your chair and reach for the pack of cigarettes on your desk. You spot a matchbook, and while that briefly strikes you as some sort of clue, you decide that's stupid and opt to strike a match instead. You bring the snipe to your mouth and run through your personal profile.  
Your name is KARKAT VANTAS. Upon deep and painful reflection, you're pretty sure it's your WRIGGLING DAY, though maybe that's tomorrow. You'd really have to ask your secretary to be sure. You don't keep track of days and at this point she's the only one who cares about that particular day. For you and your family, it's just an annual reminder of the faults of your existence, of which there are assuredly many.  
Equally plenty and definitely related are your INTERESTS. You have a passion for RIDICULOUSLY TERRIBLE ROMANTIC COMEDIES AND CORRESPONDING LITERATURE. You like to pretend Leijon hooked you on this DREADFUL STUFF, but you know that she didn't and you aren't even EMBARRASSED, although you really should be. You occasionally fancy yourself a novelist but you're NOTORIOUSLY PRETTY AWFUL AT IT. You usually end up destroying typewriters in a fit of rage, which is why you now have a secretary to take care of your paperwork and write YOUR MEMOIR. Of course that's slow going given how you can't bring yourself to relate any of the really compromising stuff to such a sweet kitten. In your youth you aspired to join the most lethal members of your society, the THRESHECUTIONERS, but they were merged with the LEGISLACERATORS following a rigorous social reform that you like to think (correctly) that you had something to do with. Even though you technically succeeded in your goal, no amount of favoritism was enough to keep you in the force after what you did.  
You're a surprisingly social person, with friends across three species, most of whom drive you BATSHIT UP THE FUCKING BELFRY. Your communication both social and professional has been greatly affected by the acquisition of your secretary NEPETA LEIJON, and you are NOT REALLY SURE WHAT TO THINK ABOUT HER YET.  
Your life now somewhat resembles an EARTH DETECTIVE NOVEL (Earth, for convenient reference, is a planet that will never exist) and you speak in a manner that is ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY ORNERY, ALL THE TIME.  
Later you and your friends will get into all kinds of adventures that will likely involve a surprising lack of death, since the author has no stomach for that. At the moment however, you are just remembering that you don't smoke.  
You begin coughing loudly and start cursing your own existence with various vulgarities at the same volume. Why the hell were you smoking? You're surprised you lasted that long without dying, though you suspect that it's because you shout so much. You shove the cigarettes and matchbook into your coat pocket, certain now that whoever left them there was some kind of villain whose capture will be aided by this invaluable clue, and drag yourself to your feet. Presently, you hear a soft knocking in your office door.  
"Karkat?" A sweet frail's voice asks. You creep to the door and rasp out an answer with your disused gravelly voice.  
"What is it Leijon?" You ask, leaning your aching head on the threshold.  
She sounds surprised and relieved. "Um, Eridan's here, he wants to know if he can come in."  
"Fuck, fine." You growl, rubbing your eyes. The door swings open a crack and you realize your mistake just in time. You squeeze your eyes shut and flail a bare foot out towards the door, slamming it closed again.  
"Oww." Mumbles a nasal voice.  
"Fuck just, hold on," you shout, panic creeping into your voice. You dive back over your desk and snatch the contact lenses from where you put them. The door begins to open again and you shove a garish lime green lense into your peeper just as Eridan's steps through the door. You keep the other eye closed and attempt to lower your hat over your uncovered eye with the hand that isn't clenched around your other contact. It doesn't work.  
Eridan half turns around and then looks back at you with a quirked eyebrow. "Are you wwinking at me?"  
"No asshole, I've got something in my eye," You say. 'Lack of something in my eye,' you think.  
"Oh." He nods. "Need any help?"  
"No fuckface, what're you my mother?" You snap at him, holding a hand in front of your eye.  
He looks at you strangely and frowns. "No, your moirale," he thinks for a moment, "did you just use a human expression?"  
You throw your empty hand in the air, keeping your unveiled eye shut. "Why the fuck are you on my case?" You shout, pushing past him and heading into your small bathroom.  
Eridan's frowns again, "do you not knoww wwhat a moirale is?"  
"Fuck you, leave me alone while I use the john." You slam the door in his bespectacled face and turn towards the cracked but spotless mirror. You don't know how or why Leijon cleans so well. You keep telling her she's your secretary and not your maid or your wife, but she just laughs at you and goes about her damn business.  
You run the water and Eridan takes this as a cue to stay silent. You look into the bathroom mirror and study your mismatched eyes, one bright red and ions bright green. You slip the other line contact into your irritated eye and now the disguise is seamless. You take a few handfuls of water and splash them into your face. You wet down your cheeks and grimace into the mirror. You scowl and decide that if nothing else you'd better brush your teeth.  
You exit the bathroom a few minutes later to find Eridan gone again. You suppose he didn't feel like awkwardly standing around in your office, which in your opinion is the only way he ever stands around anywhere. You trod over to your office door and listen at the crack, that being a habit you picked up sometime ago. Rudeness has never deterred you from an action before, so you see no reason not to eavesdrop.  
"So what is your second job if you don't mind me asking," Eridan  
'Second job?' Your brow furrows. Nepeta never mentioned a second job.  
"I do actually. I'm sorry it's kind of pawrsonal." Nepeta says quickly.  
'Damned cat puns,' you think to yourself, before your thoughts turn to guilt. 'I'm not paying her enough. I already give her half but she's probably got some freeloading relatives. It seems like she'd have those.' You grimace and dig through your pockets to see how much suds you have left this month.  
"Of course, I understand. Evveryone's gotta have secrets."  
You thumb through the fifty bucks in your pocket. This needs to last you another three weeks, but Leijon just might need it more. You decide that you should probably ask her.  
"I just think it's a real shame a dish like you hasn't gotten a nice rich guy on her arm yet." Eridan says, and you can actually feel his slimy grin.  
Yeah, you're not comfortable with this. You reach up to straighten your tie, only to find that you never loosened it. You take a brief moment to lament how much you've lost control of your own life, but decide that it'd be better for everyone to interrupt the scene in the other side of the door before it gets too mortifying. You do just that, pushing the door open and surveying the small front office with veiled interest.  
Eridan blinks his purple eyes at you through his thick square glasses. He wears a hat, scarf, and high collar, concealing the majority of his face as usual. He's wearing an overcoat on top his gray three-piece and his wavy horns jut out of the holes in his hat. He grins a jagged smile.  
"Heya Kar." Eridan says with a wave of his ring covered hand.  
"Hello Karkat." Leijon says with a sigh of relief.  
"Any calls?" You ask.  
"Nope." Your secretary says.  
"Rough." Eridan says.  
"Shut the fuck up." You reply.  
Nepeta giggles and turns back to her work. Her dark curls obscure her face as she starts typing. She's a short girl, still not as short as you. She's soft and a little rounded, but she's mentioned that she exercises, so you're not as worried about her as you might be otherwise. She's wearing a sensible white button down and a knee length skirt with a pair of dark green pantyhose underneath. The professionalism of this ensemble is completely ruined by the yellow and green cat sweater draped across her shoulders.  
You make a concerted effort not to stare at her. It's not because staring would be rude, it's because you respect her as a person and because you don't want 'either' of them to get any ideas.  
Eridan looks like he's going to say something to Leijon again, so you decide to cut him off.  
"Alright we're leaving." You say to the open air. You turn to Leijon. "We need to talk when I get back."  
Your secretary casts a questioning look at you with her pale green eyes, but she just nods and returns to her work.  
"Eh... Karkat you're not wwearing any shoes," Eridan informs you.  
"Who the fuck cares I said we're leaving." You say, opening the door and pulling him toward it.  
"It's wwinter though." Eridan says with a raised eyebrow.  
"I'LL PLUG YOU ERIDAN, DON'T THINK I WON'T!" You shout, digging your claws into his sleeve and yanking him out the door.  
Eridan gives in. "Okay okay geeze." He mutters.  
Leijon giggles again as you shut the door and you think you hear her laugh get louder as you step away from your office. You let go of Eridan and he shoves his hands in his pockets.  
"Gosh Kar, bulge-block much?" Eridan sighs.  
You give him a harsh, burning glare, but it doesn't seem to have any effect on him. You think this is probably because nobody can possibly take your limeblood eyes serious. But you realize it's probably because to people like Eridan who've had to endure your stares for so long, they've just lost all meaning.  
Eridan shakes his head and smiles. "Whenever I ask you act like there's nothing going on and then when make my move you're right there in the middle. You don't want me to steal your flush crush all you gotta do is ask pally."  
You grit your teeth and prepare to have this conversation with him for the sixth time. "First off 'pally,' she's not my fucking flush crush you dickwagon."  
"Dickwagon?" Eridan asks with a grin.  
"SECONDLY," you say, stepping down the stairs towards the foyer of the building your office is in. "I HAVE asked you. Multiple times." 'Six times.' You think, though there's no reason to be that specific.  
"And it's not because of anything -she- and I have, it's what -you- and I have. As your moirale and a fucking expert prodigy on the subject of romance I can tell you that that's not a good fit for either of you." You explain, crossing the room to the door.  
Eridan rolls his eyes and you can tell that you haven't convinced him. Of course you haven't been entirely honest with him. One of the agreements that formed the basis of your moiralegiance is that everyone has secrets. You hope that when the time comes you can use this as an excuse for not telling Eridan your blood color. For now, you're going to have to break the rule if you want to get him off your back about this.  
"There's something else." You begin cryptically.  
Eridan gives you a puzzled look and pushes the door open. You emerge from the base of a towering black and green skyscraper and step out into the shallow snow. Eridan wraps his scarf tighter and looks into your face, his purple lamps practically begging you to go on.  
You stifle a chuckle at your moirale's expense and continue your explanation. "It's about... Back when I met her. When I got kicked off the force."  
Eridan's expression grows dark and you're glad he understands how hard this is for you. You don't talk about either of those events with anyone, not even with him. This is for many reasons, not the least of which is that the two previously alluded to events are deeply, -intimately- connected.  
"She was in the back room of this store, pet shop or butchers or something. Fuck I don't know it was really dark." You recover from your tangent and continue. "Goons everywhere, Clowns, Felt, Crew, you name em they were there. She was in real trouble."  
Eridan tried to interrupt, "but-"  
You return the favor. "She wasn't some innocent bystander. You don't get into a shindig like that by accident, she was with some of them. Maybe she still is."  
"Her second job?" Eridan asks.  
Fuck, you hadn't thought of that. That said, you decided it'd be best to pretend otherwise. "Probably. She's pretty cagey about it. I've got a few hunches, grifter, gunman, call girl." You trail off and the two of you share a deep frown.  
You shake your head, "but if I'm being really honest, the vibe I get from her is moll. Maybe one of the guys at the shootout, but probably someone higher up, maybe even a boss."  
You let those words hang in the air for a few moments, hoping they'll sink in and finally deter your friend from his ill fated pursuit. Naturally, your luck is absolute shit and your words don't have quite the desired effect.  
"Ahahahaaahahahahaha." Eridan's hysterical laugh echoes just a little too loudly through the street for your comfort. You punch him in the arm and he stumbles off the curb. His laugh dies to a chuckle as he struggles to maintain his balance.  
"What's so funny asshole?" You spit.  
Eridan gasps for air and looks at you with tears in his eyes. He lifts his glasses and wipes them away. "You think a boss's girl is working as -your- secretary?"  
You cross your arms and walk a little faster. "Fuck you man, I'm a person of interest. The dame's probably spying on me to learn my secrets."  
"What, is ms. Paint your cleaning lady?" Eridan snickers.  
"I really don't really see what's so fucking funny about this, shitbulge. These are some serious fucking accusations I'm slinging around here and the implications are frankly mind boggling." You spot your destination straight ahead. It's a bar and coffe shop, "The Windy Thing." You've been coming here with Eridan for several years, being one of the few places you could actually agree on. That made it incredibly difficult to tell your moirale that the entire restaurant has become somewhat of a sore subject for you. You seem to have trouble telling your moirale a lot of things.  
Your moirale shrugs. "Sorry Kar. I guess I'm not as worried about it as you are."  
"You should be worried." You growl. "Everyone should be worried. Everyone who's not in with a gang should be worried." As you glance at his purple eyes a thought occurs to you and your nose crinkles in mild disgust. "What're you down with the clown now?"  
Eridan reacts with significantly more disgust. "It's not like that man." He says with a scowl. "I'm just... Not afraid of them."  
You shake your head. The door to "The Windy Thing" is only a few feet away now, and you can't get out of the cold fast enough. The bell rings as you swing the door open and you hurry straight to the bar.  
"Hey boys." The human behind the bat says, "The usual?"  
You and Eridan nod in unison. John smiles a goofy smile. He pours you and your moirale a grub soda and a glass of salt liquor respectively.  
"Enjoy." The human says. "Have a nice date."  
You start swearing at him, but by that time he's already gone chuckling to his next customer at the end of the counter. You sigh in despair as you watch him go.  
"You alright Karkat?" Eridan asks softly.  
"I hate him." You mumble.  
"I knoww" Eridan says. He swigs his beverage and smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
Be the other guy

You are now the other guy.  
Your name is GAMZEE MAKARA.

You get pretty excited by CLOWNS OF A GRIM PERSUASION WHICH MAY NOT BE IN FULL POSSESSION OF THEIR MENTAL FACULTIES. You belong to a RATHER OBSCURE CULT, and are the leader of a SUBSTANTIALLY LESS OSCURE GANG, which is second in membership, power, and notoriety only to the dreaded THE FELT. Your criminal activities and the mirthful manner in which you undertake them is SOMEWHAT FROWNED UPON by even your peers in the criminal underground. But you don't care, you got to be going with what feels right at where your heart's up in, you know? You like to sit in this dark room and BEAT ON YOUR PLAYTHINGS with a pool cue, which you have become QUITE EFFECT AT, much to the chagrin of your enemies and the people you imagine to be your enemies. You enjoy a FINE BEVERAGE, and like to do A LITTLE BAKING SOMETIMES. You've got ALL THESE HORNS AND CORPSES AND SHIT all over the place, and sometimes you step on them and SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF YOURSELF AND OTHERS.  
You have a lot of OTHER GREAT FRIENDS who you also like a lot. Your trolltag is terminallyCapricious and you speak in a manner that is JuSt A lItTlE bIt WhImSiCaL.  
Karkat is nowhere to be found and, in fact, you haven't thought about your EX MOIRALE in years. You've got DIFFERENT FRIENDS now. Henchmen and apprentices and crooked cops.  
You inhale and exhale slowly and deliberately, drinking in the stench of fruit and gin, of dust and damp, blood and rust. You chuckle dryly and blink at the darkness being unyielding as shit. There is a quiet clinking like loose change from across the room.  
You think for a moment that it might just be the chains hanging from the ceiling, but the door cracks open and swings into the room. The bright light silhouettes the corpses hanging from the ceiling and the figure in the doorway.  
"Muhuhuhuther fucker..." You chuckle.  
A young man stands in the doorway. The hard green angles of his face glint in the half light. His clawed feet scratch the concrete floor. The boy cocks his head and grinds his teeth. He remains silent.  
"Calibroooooo..." You giggle, "Why don't you step into my motherfucking crib?" You gesture at the same time to your motherfucking crib, which encompasses not only the torture room you sit in, but also the house above you. Therefore Caliborn is already inside, despite any disinclination he might profess.  
"I would rather eat my fucking leg off and shoot you full of holes." He professes. Caliborn bares his teeth wide, which causes dimples to form in his red cheeks. For some reason this, like most things, strikes you as funny and you proceed to chuckle like a moron.  
Caliborn looks taken aback. He bows his head and tries to hide the ghost of a smile. A split second later his hateful expression is aimed back in your direction.  
"Be serious for once assclown," the cherub growls, "I'm here on business."  
You smile a wide and neutral smile and stare blankly at him for several seconds. You start snickering again. "Iiiiiii see what you did there."  
Caliborn stifles a grin and slaps his own forehead. "I will... Shove my rifle down your protein chute." He threatens half heartedly.  
"Honk" is your reply. Honk is more than occasionally your reply.  
Caliborn's scowl returns in earnest and his dark eyes swivel left and right. "Come with me, I don't wanna talk around your stiffs."  
You hold up a long, calloused hand. "Now not all these motherfuckers are corpses."  
You bring your bottle of moonshine to your lips to drain the last dregs of sopor slime down your throat. You raise the bottle way up above your motherfucking head and chuck it lazily to your right. The bottle strikes a prospitan on a hook and he whimpers and flails pitifully.  
Caliborn stares at the carapacian. "All the more reason to talk upstairs."  
"You expectin these motherfuckers to wander off on me?" You ask, running your fingers through your thick and unwashed hair.  
The cherub watches the action with a kind of mild disgust that you don't particularly understand. That doesn't bother you much. The little man's always doin things you can't wrap your think pan around. You're really just too drunk to care. Too drunk to care is your default state.  
"Honestly I just don't trust that you aren't going to set any of them loose," Caliborn sighs. "That seems like something you'd do."  
Your brow furrows and you spring to your feet. Caliborn flinches back a hair and you smile lazily.  
"I take your point motherfucker." You nod slowly.  
Caliborn glares at you indignantly. "I don't have a mother and neither do you."  
Your eyes widen and you feel a cold nausea, like the wicked elixir is trying to crawl its way back out of you. Your head tilts a bit to the side, but it seems to you that the world has all gone and flipped upside down on you. The darkness at the edge of your vision is oppressive. You blink a few times. Your face is numb, and you can't feel whatever expression you're making. You get an inkling that it's not a good one, because Caliborn actually looks frightnened. You don't think you've ever seen him that way. You try to blink the darkness out of your eyes again, but it just won't leave.  
Caliborn looks like he's about to say something but you hold up a grimy, clawed hand. "It's," You growl, "an expression."  
Caliborn nods frantically and holds his rifle to his chest. You take long strides towards him and he presses himself to the side of the threshold just as you duck under it. You hear the door click closed behind you over the rush of blood in your ears. Your long shoes lean heavily on each creaking step as you climb the stairs. You run a hand across the peeling white wallpaper.  
"You rough up my boys Caliborn?" You ask quietly.  
Caliborn's footsteps climb rapidly behind you. "Not too badly," he says, "I left them with scratch."  
You shake your head and glance back at your protege. "My replacement?"  
Caliborn scowls. "He's not... I suppose he is in a way."  
The door at the top of he stairs is closed. You step onto the landing and crouch down, picking up the pool cue you left up here earlier. You leave pool cues just about everywhere, for ease of use.  
Caliborn raises an eyebrow, "what're you-"  
With a sudden and swift motion you plant your foot against the door and break the fucker open. Caliborn sighs and growls behind you. You brandish your cue and take a step into the kitchen. You're not quite sure what you expected, but it wasn't this.  
There's a man in your kitchen. You guess he's a man. He's wearing a green tie and a white button down shirt rolled up to his elbows. A pink, sort of lacy apron hangs down the front of him, immaculate. In his hands he holds a polished white teapot, with which he is currently serving both your men and Caliborn's.  
You feel a little bit insulted. Your men aren't unconcious, bruised, or even tied up. Kurloz and Leijon just drink their tea. At least grease, squished between two of the larger leprechauns, has the decency to look sheepish.  
"What-" your mind and mouth start to form a sentence containing several slow motherfucks, but that's still a sore subject for you, so you just stare at the man in the apron.  
Again, you just have to assume that's a man. You can't see his face, or maybe he just doesn't have one. His head is encompassed by or composed of a gigantic white sphere. The spere gives no indication of any means of sight or speech. All the same the bro turns his cue ball and talks to you.  
"Mr. Makara." The man states. His voice was smooth, musical, and a bit androgynous, it echoed around the room and inside your head.  
"Mr... Scratch?" You take your guess and he shakes his ...head.  
"Doctor, actually." He says. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, as I know so much about you. Would you care to take tea with us?"  
"Okay then," you say, "doc." You pull out a chair next to one of Cal's brunos, this red dame with her long legs crossed. You give her a goofy grin and she says something to you in a really heavy accent. You weren't really expecting something like that to come out of her mouth, but no one else reacted to it. You catch on that the little lady takes refuge in the fact that most people find it hard to understand her. Unluckily for her, you're definitely not most people.  
Your face betrays nothing. You lean towards her and put a hand under her chin. "That would ruin the tablecloth." You say softly.  
The girl stares at you and her face flushes with her dark red blood. She licks her lips and for a moment you honestly thinks she's going to jump on top of you. Unluckily for everyone, Caliborn is an asshole.  
"Hey asshole." Says the asshole. "Why don't you quit molesting my lieutenant with your gross purple eyes and drink your fucking tea."  
At your ex ward's behest you begin to drink your fucking tea. More than half the room's eyes are riveted on you, but no stares are more intense than red and Caliborn's. Doc Scratch stands to the side, hands crossed behind him like a smooth spherical badass. You slurp the tea loudly and give him an acknowledging nod.  
You put the empty glass on the table while everyone else is still working on theirs. You feel a cat rub against your leg and you lower the glass to the floor. The fluffy white kitten laps at the last of your tea.  
"Thanks for the drink Doc," you say with a wide smile. "Woulda preferred something a little more soporific but, you know."  
"Yes." Doc Scratch says with simple satisfaction.  
"Yes?" You say slowly.  
"I do know." Scratch says. "I know many things."  
You chuckle, "You know what little red's saying?"  
Doc Scratch does not seem amused. "Yes. It is an unfortunate act of youthful rebellion, but so long as Damara continues to be an effective handmaiden, it matters little."  
Damara rolls her eyes and somehow Doc Scratch's cue ball manages to look disapproving. The fact that the cat is now licking your fingers does not help you stifle the loud cackle that slips out of your lips. Caliborn slams the butt of his rifle on the table a few times. Your eyes flick over to him and your entire face contorts with rage you don't really know how to account for.  
"What the fuck do you want Caliborn?" You sigh angrily.  
"I want you to quit being so fucking stupid-" he says, but you spring to your feet and glare over the table at him.  
"And you came all the way out here to motherfucking tell me that?" you shout, "you motherfucking jump up my cave and take my men in the softest fucking hostage situation known to sentience." You glare at your own goons and their reaction is disappointingly lackluster. Leijon smiles and Kurloz stares, Grease sweats and you can't even see if the fucking human is looking at you behind those dark specs. "JUST SO YOU CAN UP AND INSULT ME?"  
You shake your head and stare at Caliborn, who is looking at you coolly from his seat, arms crossed and borrows furrowed. "I just want to talk to you." Caliborn says slowly.  
You cock your head in confusion, Caliborn is acting really weird. So weird that even you can notice it. It puts you on edge, and you figure the tea must have had something in it because you feel too sober for the amount of slime you poured down your gullet earlier.  
"Well ain't that keen." You growl, eyes half lidded. The cat rubs against your legs and you sit down slowly. Caliborn breathes slowly.  
The cherub puts a hand under his overcoat and straightens one of his suspenders. He clears his throat. "I just really hoped we could have a conversation, like we used to."  
You can't even begin to fathom what he's talking about, so you just fix him in your gaze and get your wicked wordless stare on in his direction.  
He goes on. "Those days weren't... Great... Per se. But I think I miss them, you know? Back when it was you and me scrounging for ever penny we could get, mugging people to fund us just long enough to get to the next planet... You remember?"  
This you actually do remember. It was actually one of the more enjoyable parts of your life. You had left some things behind, but it was with the promise of better things. Those better things mostly being power and money, but also being adventure and lifelong companions. Or so you had thought.  
"Hey man," you shrug, "Those times coulda gone on as long as you wanted them to. And I got all under the impression you got sick of the way things were." You fix Caliborn with an accusatory squint, but a lot of it was just the fact that the kitchen is far too bright for how sober you are.  
Caliborn actually nods at this and grinds his teeth in a way that people who didn't know him wouldn't even recognize the emotion being portrayed. It was regret. "I know." He says. "But everyone makes mistakes don't they?"  
You stare at him coldly. "Yeah, they do."  
Doc Scratch rolls his head around on his shoulders a bit and checks his pocket watch. You do your best to ignore the strange man who seems to have taken your place as Caliborn's caretaker.  
Caliborn ignores him as well. "We've had some time now, to cool off. And we're both angry assholes sometimes, so I think you can agree that we didn't part at our best."  
-Is he fucking serious- you wonder. "You miss me that much English?" You ask.  
Caliborn's eyes are actually pleading. "Yes! Wasn't it better back then? When we didn't have to worry about limebloods or midnight crews or hiding everything we do from the fucking cops? Don't you think we could make that world again? Pool our efforts and bring the whole fucking system back down on itself?" He sounds desperate, frantic.  
You glare at him. "You talk like it was a fuckin mutual disagreement! You shot me Caliborn, took the Felt and left me for dead. I did time because of you. You come in here without MY permission, start talking like what happened wasn't ALL ON MOTHERFUCKING YOU, and then start talking like I'm just supposed to drop everything and help your dumb ass start a war?" your vision fills with red and you feel the weight of a cat on your lap. Despite the absurdity, you begin stroking it roughly. "EVEN YOU ARENT THIS STUPID! WHATS THIS REALLY ABOUT? YOU LOOKING TO REKINDLE THE RIVALRY?" You roar. "YOU WAXING BLACK YOU LITTLE SHIT? IS THAT IT?"  
Caliborn stares up at you with content, his cheeks practically glowing. "This was a mistake." He says quietly.  
"Yeah," you say, "it fucking was." You push your chair back and stand up, cat in hand. Caliborn stares at you. It's not his hurt look from before, it's one of confusion and horror.  
"My Lord!" Doc Scratch warns. Caliborn points his rifle at you.  
"What the fuck?" you ask. You look to your men, but none of them are helping. They're just staring also. You are about to scream at them when the cat in your arms squirms. You loosen your grip and it leaps through the air, a faint brown aura encircling its snowy head.  
Doc Scratch flinches back too late. The cat's claws bury themselves in his apron and the feline begins crackling with a green electric energy. The energy spreads to Scratch and the two of them disappear with a loud sound like tearing curtains.  
"What the fuck?" You mumble.  
The air erupts with the sound of gunfire. Bullets burst through the walls and bury themselves in one of the leprechauns. You and Caliborn both start swearing as the hail of bullets continues and all of your men scatter.


End file.
